‘No,’ she sighed. ‘He doesn’t tell me anything. It was just a lucky guess. Laurence is so territorial about that flat. I’m surprised he let that receptionist live in there.’
She meant Ellie.
‘I think it’s more that Laurence is keen for him to appraise the hotel,’ I pointed out, before we could get on to Ellie’s shortcomings. ‘It’s ages since anyone in management slept in any of the rooms, and Joe’s already told us which ones, um, need updating.’ For someone who claimed to love sleeping rough beneath the Californian stars, Joe was a delicate flower of the princess/pea variety when it came to our ‘British’ mattresses, ‘loud’ air conditioning, and ‘insufficient’ towels.
‘I suppose it means he’s always at work by nine. But what about the work experience? He’s with you in events, isn’t he?’
‘Yes.’ I paused. This was the awkward truth part.
‘And?’
‘Um, he’s been working with me for almost four weeks now, so I suppose he’ll be moving on to the next division soon.’
‘That doesn’t answer the question I asked, but still …’ Caroline motioned for some mint tea for herself. ‘I thought he’d be shadowing you for a bit longer. Isn’t he enjoying it?’
I squirmed. This was tricky. I should have known where Joe got his directness from.
‘I don’t know if events is where his heart lies,’ I said.
Caroline looked surprised. ‘But he was managing his own events company out in California.’
‘Well, fire-walking and wilderness sleeping aren’t exactly the same as society weddings.’ I tried to put it into diplomatic words that would somehow get Joe out of my hair, but not make me look unhelpful. ‘I’ve been trying to build towards that classic Bonneville image we always had in mind when you set out the mission statement for the future, and … I’m not sure it’s really Joe’s style.’
Caroline tipped her head on one side, in that go on, hang yourself way, and it occurred to me that this might actually be a useful line. She wouldn’t want all her – and my – hard work of bringing the Bonneville back into the pages of London’s best glossy lifestyle mags undone by Joe running riot with his ideas about slapping name badges on guests or letting dogs bring the rings in on a little cart.
‘I think he finds traditional English weddings boring,’ I went on. ‘He’d rather there was more dancing and quirky themes and … wackiness.’
‘Wackiness?’
‘Last week I had a meeting with a very traditional couple who wanted the full romantic hotel wedding. The most outrageous thing the bride wanted was for everyone to dress in black-and-white so her red Manolos would stand out. No problem, fine. But Joe tried to talk them into having the groom’s side all in black, the bride’s side all in white.’
Caroline laughed as if I were having her on, then realized I wasn’t.
‘Can you imagine the photos?’ I added, remembering my desperate attempts to shut him up. ‘It’d look like a really bad Pet Shop Boys concept video from the eighties. The problem was the groom loved it. He said it was perfect because he was a part-time jazz pianist. Joe’s reaction was, “Brilliant! We can arrange everyone into a human keyboard for the going-away photos, and the groom can play them.”’
‘And the bride?’
‘Thought Joe was taking the mickey out of her wedding. I had to give her a lot of cake to take home.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Caroline. ‘Maybe this isn’t going to work out as I’d hoped.’
As she’d hoped? I fought back a sense of triumph mingled with dread. I knew there was something else behind Joe’s appearance at the Bonneville. And if Caroline was behind it, then it was much more organized than I’d suspected.
‘Caroline,’ I said. ‘What’s going on, please?’
‘Oh …’ She flapped her hands. ‘I might as well come clean. Joe called me about a week before he landed in London, completely out of the blue, to inform me that he was leaving the Land of the Free and coming home to the Land of the Free Bed and Board. So rather than have him turn up at Wragley Hall, because to be quite frank with you, Rosie, having one of my children at home, blowing up parts of my hotel garden, at any one time, is quite enough for me, I thought, no, Laurence can handle this, for a change.’
‘Right,’ I said. That wasn’t what Joe had told me about Caroline’s offer to have him in Oxfordshire, but still.
She leaned forwards in her chair, resting her elbow on the arm and pinching her chin with glee. ‘And then I thought, actually, this could be a blessing in disguise. As you know, Laurence and I would never force Joe or Alec to take on the Bonneville, just because they are family …’
‘Oh no,’ I lied. Of course not. It was only Laurence’s sole aim in life.
‘… but what a great opportunity, I thought, for Joe to get some decent experience with someone who knows what they’re doing.’
‘Laurence?’
‘No! You!’ Caroline leaned back and smiled conspiratorially. ‘I thought it might give that dreadful ex-husband of mine a wake-up call. Stop him taking you for granted, if he had to see exactly how hard you work, through Joe’s eyes. I told Laurence to move Joe round the departments so he knows what’s what, but since you do more or less everything, I thought he might as well start with you.’
I sat back in my chair. Caroline’s faith in my abilities was flattering – but at the same time, was she lining him up to get the manager’s job too? That was my job he was going to walk into, just because he happened to be the son of the owners. Joe’s impatient face floated in front of my mind’s eye, the way he’d actually yawned when I gave him the grand tour of the special movie-star rooms, and I nearly yelped with the unfairness of it.
‘So,’ I said, as evenly as I could, ‘you want me to teach Joe how to run the hotel so he can take over Paul’s job as manager?’
Caroline nearly choked on her mint tea, and coughed in an inelegant way that was very unlike her. ‘No! God, no. I mean, Laurence might want that, but no, I want Joe to come and work for me. At Wragley Hall.’
She’d lost me there. If Joe found weddings at the Bonneville boring, then he was going to go into a coma of boredom at Wragley Hall, where guests often arrived by private helicopter, the wedding music was usually performed by harpists, and every single female guest wore nude LK Bennett Sledge court shoes like the Middleton ladies. Quite often because the guests in question were the Middleton ladies.
‘That’s lovely,’ I started, ‘but to be honest, Caroline, unless you’re planning on introducing some kind of zip-wire ceremony—’
‘Weddings? God, no!’ she hooted. ‘No, no. I don’t want Joe involved in that side of things. I’ve got a top-secret new project on the go.’ She leaned forward again, her eyes all glittery with project fever. ‘I’ve finally done a deal with the farm behind the hotel and bought that big tract of woods they wouldn’t sell for years. We’re going to expand into one of those park-type places people take their families to so they can leave the kids while they have massages …’
‘You’re starting your own Center Parcs?’
‘Yes! Well, just for very well-behaved children. And I want Joe to run that. I think he’d be rather good at it.’ Caroline looked pleased with herself. ‘But first, I want him to get some idea of what proper customer service entails, and I don’t have time to train him up while I’m down a deputy manager and a chef myself, and with Alec rattling round the place as well. When I say rattling, I mean literally. The place isn’t big enough to contain him and his … energy.’
‘Still no job?’
‘Sadly not. It seems the French Foreign Legion isn’t recruiting at the moment. Anyway, minor detail. I’ll find something for Alec to do. He can blow up the bunkers for the golf course.’
She wasn’t joking.
‘So when is all this happening?’ I asked, doing mental calculations. It wasn’t going to take that long to bring Joe up to speed, not if I put my mind to it. If I could get him shipped out to Oxfordshire so
on, he wouldn’t get near the potential Flora Thornbury wedding next June. He wouldn’t even be around to follow through on his stupid jazzy ‘Perfect Day’ for Dan and Polly in November.
‘June next year,’ said Caroline.
My mental soundtrack of happy strings screeched to a halt. ‘June?’
‘Well, I haven’t quite got the paperwork sorted out yet,’ she admitted. ‘And it’s not a two-minute job, learning the hotel trade, now, is it?’
The prospect of Joe sabotaging my Bridelizer well into the middle of next year floated before me. Caroline had no idea how much was riding on me making those figures. My promotion, my new flat, my entire relationship with Dominic, possibly even my sanity …
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Caroline said smoothly. ‘You’re thinking, “What’s in it for me?”’
‘No, I’m not, I’m happy to—’
‘Rosie, this is me you’re talking to. If you weren’t asking what was in it for you, I’d wonder where I’d gone wrong. No, if you can get Joe’s mind focused on British hospitality and get him a bit more enthused about the old family business – mine, I might add, not his father’s – then I will put in a good word for you, shall we say, about the general manager job.’
‘At the Bonneville?’
‘At the Bonneville.’
I met Caroline’s gaze. She looked straight back at me. She and Joe had the same straight nose and the same fine gold hair. Although Caroline’s didn’t have ratty little plaits in it. It made me wonder how deeply Caroline’s business acumen was buried in Joe.
‘Put in a good word,’ I repeated.
‘I can’t make any promises,’ she said, poker-faced. ‘But you know that I know a lot of good words.’
‘And does Laurence know about this? About the Center Parcs idea?’
For the first time she looked a bit shifty. ‘Not yet. And please don’t tell him. He’ll only have one of his health-and-safety fits. You know what he’s like.’
‘I won’t.’ Sniping about Ellie aside, Laurence and Caroline were quite amicable divorcées. It was really only the small matter of Laurence taking Caroline entirely for granted that had withered her patience in the end. ‘You know,’ I added, because it was true, ‘Laurence is very happy to have Joe back. I think he’s enjoying having him in the hotel. He seems to be taking a lot more interest in it himself these days.’
Caroline sighed. ‘I know. Joe’s a good boy. Well, man, now. Do I look old enough to have a son of twenty-eight?’
‘No,’ I said truthfully.
‘Good,’ said Caroline. ‘It’s our new Soap and Flannel spa facial. Do recommend it to your lovely brides. Now, where’s the waiter for the bill?’
We had our usual ‘No, let me!’ ‘No, I insist!’ conversation (she won), and we both checked our phones for messages while the waiter went off to get it.
I had four wedding-related problems, and one from Dom asking if I’d come up with a good Cumberland sausage joke yet. And Helen had texted me.
Ask Caroline about Joe. Hx
‘Honestly, just because one goes to London,’ said Caroline, texting furiously, ‘does not mean that people can take the morning off …’
If Joe thought I was bossy and a bit of a control freak, I thought, he was in for a rude awakening if he got a job with his mother.
Have you asked yet? I have a tenner riding on this. Hx
I put my phone away.
‘Out of interest,’ I said casually, ‘why did Joe decide to come back? There weren’t any … problems out there?’
‘No, it was all going fairly well, as far as I know,’ said Caroline. ‘Not a bad idea, getting paid to take other people on outdoor jaunts you’d be going on yourself anyway. Which is more than I can say about Alec’s latest business proposal. You haven’t come across any grooms who’ve been kidnapped by their stags, have you? I mean, properly kidnapped with bags over their heads and ransom notes. Is it a new thing?’
I blanched. ‘Not as far as I know. Sorry, I was being nosy. It’s just that Joe obviously loved the lifestyle out there. And from what he says, his business was pretty successful.’
Caroline checked the bill, frowned, and put her credit card down on it. ‘Quite a specialist market, the sort of holidays he was running. He hasn’t really gone into much detail about it with me, but Joe’s like his father, terribly proud. Hates talking about money, doesn’t like discussing private matters. I expect he’ll end up telling you more about it than he will me.’
I moved my teaspoon round in my saucer, making it parallel to the cup. I wondered whether Caroline had seen Joe in the state I’d seen him the morning I found him in the bridal suite. Hungover and messy. He hadn’t looked terribly proud then; he’d looked wrecked.
I don’t know why I asked, but I did anyway. ‘You don’t think it was a girl?’
Caroline shook her head. ‘No, he never mentioned one.’
I knew it wouldn’t be a girl. No one who thought ‘stag tea parties’ with pork pies and lager were a good idea could possibly have had a girlfriend to be brokenhearted about.
‘Why do you ask?’ Caroline asked suddenly. ‘Does he seem touchy when you have brides in? Oh dear.’
‘Not exactly. Although he does seem a bit …’ I tried to find the right words. ‘Fixated on making sure they’re doing the right thing.’
‘In what way?’
‘He’s mentioned wedding contracts more than a few times, and how both parties should know what they’re signing up for. Not legal contracts,’ I added, ‘more, “I promise not to leave my snoring uninvestigated for more than a month, and I promise not to grow a moustache unless it’s for charity.”’
I’d managed to persuade Rory and Bethan that he was joking. But not before Bethan had got a couple of rather personal digs in about Rory’s ‘seasonal weight gain’.
Caroline sighed. ‘He always was a very honest child.’
‘Honest is fine, but he does take it a bit far,’ I said. ‘We had one bride call off her wedding after a chat with Joe at the rehearsal dinner about the honeymoon. I really don’t want to risk the same thing happening again. We’ve potentially got a big wedding coming up next year, and it could lead to a lot of exposure. If it all goes ahead.’ I paused significantly. ‘If we get it.’
Caroline raised her eyebrows, excited. ‘The Thornburys, I heard. Now if you could effect some cosy chat between Mrs. Thornbury and dear Laurence then it’d be three good words I’d be putting in.’ She smiled conspiratorially. ‘She’d be perfect for him. Rich and bossy and, if I remember correctly, somewhat deaf. We really have to find someone for Laurence, Rosie. I had four phone messages last week, asking me if I could remember if he’d had rubella. And when I woke up there were two absolutely traumatizing photos he’d taken of his own … I won’t tell you what … asking me if I thought it had changed colour since I last saw it.’
‘Blimey.’
‘I can’t imagine he bothers that Ellie woman with this sort of thing?’
‘No,’ I said truthfully. ‘He can’t. Not since the court order. It was part of their divorce agreement. No phone calls other than to discuss Otto and Ripley.’
‘Otto and Ripley,’ muttered Caroline. ‘Dear God. Anyway, my goodness, is that the time? I need to see a man about some underfloor heating. Can I give you a lift anywhere?’
‘I’ll get the bus,’ I said, and we made our way back out into the busy London street.
Caroline waved as her driver pulled away into the traffic, but I didn’t mind hopping on the number nineteen. I needed some time to process what I’d just learned, before I had to face all the parties involved back at the hotel.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I’d kept Flora Thornbury’s wedding meeting quiet, but on Friday morning there were definitely more cleaners polishing the tables in the Palm Court than usual. Under normal circumstances, the Bonneville was so tightly staffed that you rarely saw three cleaners on the same floor, let alone five in one function room.
> I reckoned Laurence must have let something slip. He was a bit of a shameless star-spotter himself, though he pretended modern stars weren’t a patch on the gold-plated ones who’d frequented the Bonneville in the Good Old Days. I made a bet with myself that he’d be ‘passing’ the Palm Court at about, ooh, ten past ten, in a new shirt and fifty per cent more Eau Savage than normal.
Looking on the bright side – literally – the room was spotless. Every surface gleamed – the black grand piano, the glass tabletops, the silver tea services. I ran a quick critical eye over the furniture for any out-of-line chairs or used teacups, and tweaked a couple of round cushions. Sunshine streamed through the long French windows overlooking the rose gardens and creating a neat yellow column over the polished parquet. It really did feel like the sort of room in which an off-duty film star would flick through the morning’s papers, while sipping a coffee poured from a silver cafetière.
Even on grey wintry days, I loved this room. Flora was a model – she’d appreciate the soft light and cleverly positioned mirrors. We could do beautiful thirties-style pre-wedding photos, I thought, she and her bridesmaids draped languidly over the Deco armchairs like Cecil Beaton models …
My usual secret list of photographers and make-up artists probably wouldn’t be necessary, but I’d brought it with me anyway, just to show we had one. And also to show that I was the sort of wedding planner who liked to keep everything well under control.
‘When’s she coming in?’ whispered one of the cleaners, and was shushed by her friend.
I pretended to look blank. ‘When’s who coming in?’
‘Flora Thornbury!’
‘Can you finish fiddling with that, please?’ I made hurry up motions at the girls lingering around the white sunburst flower arrangement on the piano. They seemed to be taking it in turns to move one rose an inch to the left, then back again, while casting casual-yet-nosy glances at the door.
Reluctantly they started to slope off.
‘I don’t mind volunteering for extra hours,’ said one as she passed. ‘If there are, er, any big weddings coming up?’